Barely Manageable
by planecrashdream13
Summary: I didn't expect much in coming to Wildwood Ranch. In fact, I didn't want to be here. My job was to accompany my client, a rowdy up-and-coming musician, make sure he got his act together, then leave. I had other things to do than waste my time on some redneck, old-fashioned farm riding horses and singing songs around the campfire. That is, until I found someone worth staying for.
1. Prologue

**Alright, so I've had this idea for a while and I'm finally gathering up the courage to write it! This story is going to be almost entirely angst free, although Brittany and Santana aren't going to immediately get together in the first chapter-there will be more of a buildup. I'm going to try and give this fic a good dose of humor (hopefully my humor makes sense haha) and balance it out with some serious times. Now, onto more important** **matters: I know how much we all hate Sam in Brittana fics what with the season that shall not be named and the things that went down. So, I am going to change his character a bit and hopefully he'll be more tolerable in this fic. And also, let's just say you definitely DON'T need to worry about him trying to steal one of our girls ;) I'm not going to be focusing a lot on outside characters, though there will be** **a couple that are essential in the development of Brittany and Santana's relationship. This fic also has a lot to do with the music industry, as it is based around Nashville, and I promise I'll be as accurate as possible because it is a big part of my life. I'm not** **sure how frequently I'll be updating, but it shouldn't be too long between chapters as it is summer! Okay, enough of my rambling, just read it! Unless you don't want to, which I hope isn't the case, but I understand. Hopefully this will help get you through the waiting until June 29th, I know I'm still holding my breath! And for those of you** **that don't know what's happening on the 29th in Brittana Ficland, better get on that ;) ANYWAYS, on with the chapter!**

**p.s. there isn't going to be any Brittana interaction in the first chapter** **because it's the prologue and it's mostly introducing the characters and setting up Santana's background story. But I promise, after this there will be plenty of interaction between the two!**

* * *

So here I am, sitting on a stool in my go to downtown bar, The Stage. There's some cover band playing what seems to be the Top 40 Country Hits of 2013. Now I was never one to enjoy country music. In fact, I really dislike it most of the time. Then why am I sitting here enduring a half-assed version of some country star's new single? Well, The Stage is a bar located in the heart of Touristland Nashville, and it's one of the only places that reminds me that I'm still just a tourist. I mean, I'm not really since I've been living here for five years, but sometimes it makes me feel good to be around people that can't and don't really call this place home. Don't get me wrong, I love living in Music City, USA; it's just that it hasn't yet started to feel like my home.

When I moved here from Lima, Ohio straight out of high school, I had this big dream of becoming a singer/songwriter. College never really appealed to me—no I'm not lazy, I just had other plans for my career. And what better place to launch my career than Nashville, Tennessee? Of course there's LA or New York, but I didn't want to be the next pop sensation, (that phrase makes me roll my eyes everytime) or hotshot music producer (talk about egos the size of hot air balloons), so I decided to make my move to the good ole' Volunteer State where singer/songwriters thrive.

My parents didn't care much about what I was doing, as long as I was happy. You see, my dad's a doctor, but he's really laid back (not like one of those controlling doctor dads that forces their child to be a brain surgeon or a lawyer or something). And my mom is an ad executive who knows how fun it is to get creative. With their blessing, I knew that I was going to do okay.

However, I quickly realized how hard it is to "make it" in this business, even if I didn't really want to get that famous in the first place. I figured out it was probably easier to be successful by managing up-and-coming acts instead of trying to become one. That's when I signed on with Full Scope Artist Management as an artist manager. I've been with them for three years, and to this day I love my job. Except as of late, a certain musician has been making it difficult for me to enjoy. Brayton Hale (or 'Brayton sent from Hell', as I sometimes like to call him) is the current artist I am managing. I'll admit it, the dude is crazy talented and he's a nice enough guy (most of the time...okay some of the time. Once you get to know him, his nice personality slowly disappears, I've figured out), but there is a major issue with him. He's sort of maybe a hardcore alcoholic. I know, right? How freakin' stereotypical is that?

Unfortunately, seeing as I'm his manager, _I_ have to take care of him and make sure he stays sober enough to not fall off the stage while he's performing (like he did that one time at The Second Fiddle). It's all about the image, you know? What did I ever do to the big man upstairs to convince him that putting the most troublesome, bullheaded, hayseeded red neck entertainer in the current Nashville scene under my responsibility was a good idea? Thank God I'm getting paid.

As I'm ranting off in my head about the trials and tribulations of my stressful and totally unfair career (even though I secretly love it), a soft pat on my back reveals another person in my presence at the bar. Daniel Blevins, my sort of best friend, sits down on the stool next to me, smiling wide with his annoyingly large trouty mouth (I won't get into any other description of what he looks like, cause really, I know you don't care). But I will tell you one thing: Dan is the gayest gay to ever gay.

Dan and I met in this very bar when I had just moved and was still getting used to everything. I kind of just stuck with him because it was nice to have someone show me around and offer to be my friend in such an unfamiliar setting. Plus, I felt bad for the guy, who didn't seem to have very many friends after living here for most of his life. Anyways, it's actually quite sad how I met him. Dan is nice enough, but sometimes he gets these stupid ideas that seem like good ideas to him (when it comes to some things, he's not the brightest marker on the whiteboard). And for some reason, he decided to try one of his stupid ideas on me.

_I was just sitting on the same seat I'm sitting on now, minding my own business with a beer when this goofy looking dude came up to me and started hitting on me. Like what the hell, right? So after humoring him for about five minutes and trying to see if he was actually, seriously trying to get in my pants, I said "Sorry, I'm gay," and got up to leave._

_As I walked past him, I added, "And so are you...next time you play this game, try harder to not let your gay show."_

_The shock on his face made me laugh because honestly, what did he expect to get out of hitting on me? Why would he make a game out of trying to pick up girls then breaking it to them that he's totally not into that? I don't know, the guy is weird._

_Then he cracked a smile and narrowed his eyes at me, "Well I'll be darned, you're the first person in this bar that's called me out on my bullshit! That deserves another beer!" He leaned in closer, "What gave me away?"_

_"For a big chunk of my life I was a closet lesbian and a judgmental bitch, which means one thing: I have awesome gaydar," I quipped with a smirk. And we've been good friends ever since._

"Hey Santana," Dan greets enusiastically, bringing me back to the present.

I look up and turn slightly so I'm facing his way and offer him an equally enthusiastic hello.

"So what are your plans for the weekend?" Dan asks. The cool thing about Dan is that he genuinely cares about people, and when he asks something, it's not just to keep an awkward silence from taking over.

"Not really sure," I shrug, "I was thinking of just chilling at home, hitting Rocketown for some talent scouting, maybe seeing the Preds play tomorrow night with Mercedes."

Truth is, I'm not a big fan of hockey, but that's pretty much the only major league sports team Nashville has to offer. That and the NFL's Tennessee Titans, but, well, they're not doing too hot right now. In general sports aren't my thing, but I like watching people fight over the stupidest reasons like fouls and bad calls. It makes me feel better when I argue with my mom about what colors should be painted on my living room walls or why I refuse to eat whole wheat bread. Yeah, I have to admit, I only go for the fights.

Mercedes, on the other hand, is a huge hockey fan. I've known her since high school, but we were never really super close. Now that I think about it, she's the only one that was worth keeping in touch with. When it comes to friends, I have high standards. Well, even if I had low standards, no one from that hellhole high school would make the cut. About a year after I moved to Nashville, I found out that Mercedes was coming to town, looking for a manager. She was trying to get a record deal and like me, thought Nashville was a great place to be successful. Turns out she was right.

I became her manager and after about a year, she got picked up by a well known R&B label. After that she kept climbing the charts and eventually had to switch managers. We loved working together, but I'm more of a manager who takes care of people _before_ they get big. Once Mercedes reached that point, I couldn't handle such a high-profile job. She's still one of my best friends though, and I'm glad she decided to stay in Nashville. She sure knows how to party. Plus, she has season tickets to the Predators, which is why I'm planning on going with her tomorrow.

"That is if Brayton can stay sober enough for his show and not pass out before his second song," Dan replies, "Although it is fun to see him tipsy." Ugh, here we go again with the daydreaming.

I have no idea why, but Dan has this huge crush on Brayton. I hope it's because of Brayton's talent, 'cause there's no way in hell his personality is something to like. Whatever, it's gross. I don't care if Dan's my friend. It's just gross.

"Yeah, well so far so good. He's been slowly easing off the alcohol," I roll my eyes, "I am _so_ not skipping a free night in town to go save his ass for the twenty seventh time."

Dan chuckles, "Well yeah good luck with that...I'll tell you what, I'll gladly go see his show and make sure he's all right. And if anything's up, I'll text you and let you know."

"Awesome, that would really help me out. Listen, I gotta go and double-check that the venue's booked and everything's good to go for the show. Please let me know if he is anywhere _close_ to making a fool of himself," I plead to Dan, "It's a Saturday night in the biggest tourist hotspot, there's bound to be some type of press there waiting for him to make a wrong move. I don't need that shit popping up on all the music blogs. It's a hell of a time getting rid of a bad image." See, usually I would just go myself because I'm his manager, but once every couple of months, I get a day off from having to follow him around everywhere. It's a nice break and I could definitely use a rest from trying to keep him out of the press because of one mess or another. Although he's not popular yet, his music is promising, and the bad boy image would definitely not boost his popularity in a positive way.

I stand up as Dan nods, "Don't worry, I got this. I won't let him or you get any bad rep from this gig." I smile and fist bump him, then I'm out the door.

I sure hope he's right.

* * *

It's Saturday night and I'm walking down Broadway with Mercedes to get to the Bridgestone Arena where the Predators play. Of course I'm not wearing a jersey because those things are unflattering to the figure and it would make people think that I actually care about their team. Which I don't.

Instead I opt for a grey t-shirt and black jeans (What? I was too lazy to dress up today, okay? Plus, I look totally hot in grey.) As we get up to the arena, with all the crazy fans shouting and loud music playing, I can't help but roll my eyes. The enthusiasm of Nashvillians and their hockey...Mercedes blends right in with them, high fiving a group of guys she knows and shouting, "Go Preds!" every five seconds. I just silently follow behind her, taking in the chaos and wondering why people get so riled up just for a hockey game.

Soon we're moving up the line to get in and get to our seats all the way up in the nosebleeds. All I want is to grab a drink and watch the players and fans make fools of themselves while getting into fights for no reason. That's when my phone buzzes.

I pull it out without an idea of who it could be (Well, I have a small idea, but I'm really hoping I'm wrong). I don't have many friends even though I've been here for half a decade; I'm more dedicated to my work than anything else. I'm not saying I have zero social encounters with people besides Mercedes and Dan, but my social life is pretty limited.

Speak of the Devil, it's a text from Dan.

**Mayday, mayday! Brayton is as drunk as Ke$ha after four New Year's Eve parties! Get here NOW. -Dan**

Oh my God. If I could slam my face into a wall, I would (but my face is just too precious for that). This is not happening! Of all the freaking days, it had to be my day off. As I'm about to reply with some of my favorite swear words, my phone flashes again.

**Now he's yelling at some lady who was chatting with her friend instead of watching his performance. AND HE JUST SMASHED A BOTTLE OVER SOMEONE'S HEAD. HELP. -Dan**

**Damnit calm down! I'm heading over now! Just try to keep him from drinking out of the beer tap again and KEEP. THE. GUYS. WITH CAMERAS. AWAY. -Santana**

After hitting send, I get Mercedes attention and tell her what Dan texted me.

"Oh girl, you better go! Looks like trouble," she says wide-eyed.

"I can't believe this is happening," I mumble.

She chuckles, "Oh I can. That guy is too reckless for his own good. Now hurry!"

I reluctantly get out of my place in line—that was right near the door, might I add— and break out into a run. The only lucky thing about this night is that Brayton is playing at Tootsie's, which is right down the street from the arena. If I want to save any ounce of good reputation this musician has left, I have to be as quick as possible.

When I reach the purple building, I storm inside and survey the damage. By now most people have realized that it's best to leave, but there's still a couple in the corner that are too wasted to care about what day it is, much less a drunk guy smashing chairs on tables. And as I pan to my right, I see a teenager holding up his phone, most likely taking a video, grinning like he just struck gold or something. If that thing gets online, it could definitely damage Brayton's career. Damn, how much am I gonna have to pay the kid to keep this on the down low? I'll worry about that later, for now I have to stop Brayton.

In the back I see Dan rushing around, red in the face, trying to calm Brayton down. But there's no way that Dan has the guts to do what I'm about to do. Managing Brayton for two years has taught me a lot of things. One of those things is that the only way to stop him when he's drunk is to punch him in the face. I am not kidding. It's harsh, but it's the only thing that works. And honestly, after doing it so many times, my knuckles don't even hurt after anymore.

So, realizing that my kickboxing skills are needed, I zero in on my target and proceed, sending him a quick smack to his jaw. Let's just say even though he may have seen it coming, his motor skills are not in top shape as of right now. In fact, his reflexes suck. I think a sloth would react faster than him.

Don't ask me why, but _every time_ that does the trick. He looks dazed—like he just got hit on the head with something. Go figure.

"What are you doing?!" I shout at him, pushing him down into a chair. "Do you know what this could do for your career?! You're supposed to be performing, not drowning in alcohol!" At this point, I am furious, 'cause really? I've done this way more times than I am okay with.

Brayton just sits there with a dazed look on his face, and I swear he's drooling. Dan is standing helplessly next to me, staring with sorry, wide eyes. Even though he didn't do anything wrong, I still feel disappointed in the both of them. I thought that I wouldn't have to give up my one night off to do damage control on another one of Brayton's mistakes, but I guess Brayton fucking up is inevitable. Just then I get hear my phone ringing, letting me know that I'm getting a call from my boss at Full Scope. I sincerely hope that he hasn't found out about this. 'Cause if he's found out, he's gonna take it out on me, Brayton's manager. The one responsible for making sure a grown man doesn't make stupid mistakes. Like this one.

I brace myself and accept the call, "Hello, this is Santana."

_"SANTANA. Why am I being alerted that your client is causing disruptive behavior at one of our most important venues?!"_

"Whoa, calm down Will, I got it under control, Brayton just got a little carried away with his drinking, it won't happen again, I swear," I try to sound a convincing as I can. I figure playing it cool might make him think that it's not as bad as it actually is. My boss is a pretty nice guy, except for when the company's reputation is put on the line.

_"That's what you said the last twenty six times! This was the last straw and now we are putting a stop to this mess, I don't care what it takes. I am giving you an ultimatum that I have been wanting to give since Brayton's last debacle,"_ his voice is firm, and I know whatever he's about to say can't be denied._"You either need to let him go from the agency or send him somewhere that keeps him away from the public eye. Somewhere natural, out in the countryside. He needs to be and remain sober. Clear?" _There's no way I'm letting go of Brayton. What he lacks in self control he doubly makes up in talent. So I have no choice but to do what Will says.

"Yeah sure sure, but where in the heck do you want me to send him? It's not like we can take him off the music scene just like that and make him disappear. People will notice."

_"I don't know, figure something out,"_ his voice is impatient,_ "I have to go, but find a place close enough to Nashville where he can still be part of the scene, just not close enough to cause messes like the ones he's been making lately. Keep him there until you're sure he's proven that he's worth our time and won't throw away his career before it really starts. _You_ are his manager, so _you_ will fix this."_

"Fine," I frustratedly reply, "I'll come up with something."

_"Good,"_ Will has enough faith in me to trust that I'll find a solution, and I know that after some searching around, I will.

_"Oh, and Santana?"_ Will asks.

"What?"

_"You're going with him."_


	2. Chapter 1

**Hey everybody! Glad to see you've decided to stick around for the next chapter! Thanks for the follows and BleedsOrange and killer cereal, my two and only reviewers haha :D How will Santana feel about being forced to accompany Brayton on his road to recovery? I guess you'll have to read on to find out! I hope y'all enjoy :)**

* * *

If there is one thing in this world that I have never been surer about, it is this: Will Schuester and Brayton Hale will be the death of me. And if I somehow miraculously make it out alive, I will personally make sure that I am the death of them.

_"You're going with him."_

Those four words keep reverberating through the walls of my mind, taunting me in the annoyingly authoritative tone of Will Schuester's voice. It may not seem like such a big deal, leaving the city to go to the countryside for a couple months—some may even think of it as a vacation. But I am definitely not one of those people. You see, there are a couple of things everyone should know about me before sending me God-knows-where to watch over a fully capable, grown man and make sure he keeps away from his Jack Daniels.

First, I hate taking care of people. In fact, I could barely take care of a couple goldfish when I was younger because I kept forgetting that I had to feed them these weird flake particles instead of the leftover scraps from my dinner. I can't really be blamed though, no one ever told me chicken marsala was a bad dining option for animals of the aquatic variety. And one time when Dan had the flu, I brought over Mexican food. I don't know, it seemed like comfort food to me. Who would have thought the smell of burritos actually makes people with the stomach flu throw up more? No kidding. I guess my actual conclusion is, I have a really hard time taking care of fish. But people can't be that different, right?

Secondly, I hate Brayton. As of right now, he's on my list that contains all the people that have somehow managed at one point or  
another to make my life miserable. Thanks to the little stunt he pulled on Saturday, he's slowly climbing his way to the top.

Thirdly, I require at least four hours of alone time per day in which I sit in my empty house without the distractions of other human beings and think. When I was in middle school, my anger therapist said it's very soothing for the soul. Now I'll be forced to actually communicate with people for extended periods of time at whatever redneck place I have to go to with Brayton. It's not that I don't like communicating with people, it is part of my job after all, but I always have the chance to hang up the phone, get out of my office and indulge in a little 'me-time'. I have a feeling that wherever I'm going will _not_ afford me that luxury.

Fourth, I hate Brayton. Did I already mention that? Oh well, it deserves another round of recognition.

And last but certainly not least, nature and I do _not_ get along. I just can't handle getting covered in mud or shoveling cow shit or rolling around in hay all day. No way. Not to mention the _horses_. I will certainly not, under any circumstances, over my living body, go within a one mile radius of a horse. Those four-legged creatures scare me to death. And they're just irritating. They manage to make my teeth hurt and my breasts _ache_ with rage. Seriously, who wants to ride on an animal that has the ability to crush your spine in an instant at any point in time? My dad says my aversion to horses started as a six year old at the Lima County Fair when I went to the petting zoo and they had this awesome looking pony in the pen (what kid doesn't love ponies?). I rushed into the pen and got distracted by a particularly loud-mouthed goat and next thing I know, I'm on the ground. Apparently the pony got spooked and knocked over the closest thing it could reach, which was me. I cried. Hard. Needless to say, I was scarred for life and won't be going near any type of equestrian any time soon. Or petting zoo.

So yeah long story short, this little arrangement my boss set up with me and my client? Not the most intelligent decision he's ever made.

* * *

Here I am sitting in my office at Full Scope in downtown Nashville on a bright and early Monday morning, googling whatever key words I can think of that will give me what I'm looking for. Quite honestly, I'm not even exactly sure what it is I'm looking for. I keep repeating Will's request, hoping that something will trigger an idea in my brain and I'll magically come up with a place. Because Google sure as hell isn't working.

Natural. Close to Nashville, but not within the city. Secluded. Preferably void of access to alcohol.

Nope, I've got nothing. Even more frustrated than I was before (didn't think that was possible), I sigh and reach for the phone on my desk. It's been almost two weeks since I last called my parents, and that's about as long as we can go without one of them thinking I got kidnapped or fell down the stairs and broke my head or something.

After barely two rings, my dad picks up, "_Hey honey! Long time no speak! Your mom and I were just talking about how we haven't heard from you in a while."_

I roll my eyes up towards the ceiling and let out an exasperated sigh, "It's been two weeks dad," I remind him, "I'm not a baby anymore, I don't need you worrying about me everytime I forget to call. Besides, some families go months without speaking to each other."

_"Well we're not 'some families', now are we?"_

Lately, this has been basically the same conversation I have everytime I call my dad. It's starting to get on my nerves. Although both of my parents are supportive of everything I do, they always _have_ to have the upper hand in an argument.  
Just then I hear my mom call out, _"Who are you talking to, Robert?"_

My dad's reply is muffled,_ "It's Santana, Maribel! She finally decided to acknowledge our existence. Her 'VIP managing job' hasn't totally gotten to her head—what a miracle!"_

_"Oh, it's been such a long time since I've heard from my own _daughter_,"_ she says emphatically, probably to make sure I feel the full effect of the guilt trip they're taking me on.

_"Your mom says hi Santana,"_ my dad speaks through the phone.

"I know dad, I could hear her loud and clear," I sigh again.

_"Oh, sorry honey...so tell me! Is your job treating you well? Brayton finally getting his act together?"_ A pause,_ "Do you have a girlfriend?"_

Every. Single. Time. It's always the same interrogation. I swear he reads off a checklist.

"Dad. No to all your questions. I haven't gotten a girlfriend in the considerably short time since we last spoke and you asked the same thing." Truth is, I've never really had a girlfriend. Oh no, don't get me wrong, I've picked up plenty of women in my life—casually dated for a little while—but nothing ever got too serious. Was I scarred by some incident in my past that prevented me from forming relationships in order to avoid getting hurt? Nah. I just haven't found anybody that's worth my time. I mean, come on, I have standards. High standards, yes, but there's got to be _someone_ who is worthy. Right?

"And as for Brayton, don't even get me started."

_"Great, what happened this time?" _I love ranting to my dad about Brayton because he's somehow able to be more annoyed with the musician than I am. That's a pretty admirable feat in my book.

"Well first of all, he nearly destroyed the interior of one of the most famous bars in the city, _then_ I had to pay some kid a huge chunk of change get him to shut up about it," I hear my dad's disapproving grunts as I continue on with my outburst, "this dipshit is more trouble than he's worth."

_"Definitely can't disagree with you there."_

"But wait, the absurdity doesn't end there..."

After filling my dad in on all the insane demands of my boss and the fact that I don't have a clue of where to take Brayton, my dad says the words I have been waiting to hear since Sarurday night.

_"Now that I think about it, I know of the perfect site!"_ Please be good, please be good, not a farm or a mental institution, I'll take anything but that.

_"It's called Wildwood Ranch and it's in Franklin about twenty five miles south of Nashville, it's secluded but there are plenty of strong-willed folk to help you keep an eye on Brayton. It's perfect!"_ He seems really excited now; my dad's one of those guys that loves to be the first one who finds a solution to any problem he's challenged with.

But, "A ranch?! Hell no! I'm not going to one of those hicktown hillbilly farms where all they do is run around feeding animals all day," I counter. "And how do you even know about a ranch in the middle of Tennessee? You've never even been here."

_"Actually, I have. Do you remember about fifteen years ago when I went on that business trip for a couple of weeks? I went to Wildwood to treat a patient, the head rancher's wife. Peyton, the rancher, and I have been good friends ever since,"_ I hear a tinge of sadness laced in my father's tone, but I'm too flustered to question it. _"They're really good people there, they'll take care of the both of you just fine. You've got nowhere else anyways, and you can't judge a place you've never been to."_

I hate when my dad uses common sense in his arguments. I never stand a chance against Lopez logic. By this point, I just want to end the conversation and accept the fact that my fate comes in the form of haystacks and hoedowns. And horses. Dear God, please help me.

"_Fine_ dad. I will consider it." That's basically my way of saying 'you're right, thank you, and I'm using you're advice'. After twenty three years of being my father, he knows exactly what I really mean.

_"Good girl, give me more info about the situation and I'll call Peyton to tell him all about it. I'm sure he'd love to have you."_

* * *

After my dad gives me the contact information that I need, I hang up and head to lunch. Mercedes and Dan are waiting for me at  
The Sky Blue Cafe in East Nashville, our usual hang out spot on Mondays. It's the only day Dan doesn't have work and because of our flexible schedules, Mercedes and I can have lunch whenever we decide to.

"Hey guys! Sorry to keep you waiting, I got caught up in a really long phone call with my dad," I say to my friends in greeting.

"No problem, we only got here a couple of minutes ago," Dan shrugs, "Any luck with the whole Brayton deal?" As we get seated, I fill them in on the new developments to 'Operation Fix Brayton', as I have decided to name it.

"A ranch?!" Mercedes gasps, "Girl I am so sorry, I understand your pain."

"I know, right? But it's the only choice I have as of right now, and I'm running out of time. Will wants us gone by Wednesday," I reply with resignation.

"I think it's awesome! You might get to shoot a gun!" Dan adds to the conversation.

"For all the years I've known you, I still fail to comprehend your obsession with firearms," I shake my head, exasperated.

"Must be a southern thing," Mercedes interjects, "but I still don't understand why you can't just send Brayton to rehab and let somebody else take care of him. Why should you have to do it?"

"Because for some reason I'm the only one that's figured out how to get under his skin, and from past experience rehab is a waste of time and money. He's gone three times already, and each time he can't seem to stay away from his whiskey for more than a week."

A silence sets in around the table and as we finish our lunch, the conversation switches from the beautiful new Music City Center that Mercedes can't wait to perform in to the trees changing color with the fast approaching autumn season.

"Well it was wonderful as usual hanging out with you guys, but I've got to head back to the studio, ya know finish up the vox," Mercedes says as she gets up. "I can't believe you're leaving us," she turns to me and shakes her head.

"Aww, so you do care about me, Wheezy!" I get up as well and reach over the table to hug her, but I end up failing because over-the-table is not the best situation to initiate a hug. We laugh at the awkward positioning and I shrug, "Flattering, really, but it's not like I'll be gone forever. It'll be a get in, restore Brayton to sobriety, get out sort of deal. And there's got to be phone service, I don't care how far back in the woods this ranch is. We'll keep in touch."

She lets out a hopeful smile and bids us a goodbye. I sit back down and look to Dan who holds his head down with a hesitant expression, like he wants to ask me something, but is afraid of my response. I raise my eyebrows as he lets out a breath and looks back up.

"Umm, Santana? I know this is like, really short notice and all, but I was wondering if maybe—since you're gonna be gone and everything—I was wondering if I could move in and take care of your apartment?" His face is expectant but unassuming, "It's just that my roommate kind of kicked me out and I need a place to stay for a short while until I find something else."

"What? Why did he kick you out?" I ask, amused by his sudden apprehension. "You know what, it doesn't even matter," I erase his shyness with a wave of my hand, "I was actually wondering what I was going to do with my apartment while I'm gone. But when I come back, you're gonna have to move because there's no way that apartment can fit both my amazing collection of shoes and all of your video games."

"Thank you so much, Santana!" Dan grins, "And I promise to feed the snake and turn the heater off when I leave the apartment and all that stuff!"

"Snake? I don't even have a snake," I furrow my brows together. Is that some sort of weird sexual innuendo that I don't know about? 'Cause this is Dan we're talking about...and I can't suppress the shudder that comes with the thought of that.

"You don't, but I do! It's got an awesome pattern on its scales and it loves eating mice," Dan gushes excitedly. Sweet Cece's, what am I getting myself into?

"Okay, okay, I get it, awesome, you have a snake as a pet," I roll my eyes, "Just make sure to not spill rodent guts all over my hardwood floors, got it?"

"Yeah totally, I mean its kind of impossible to do that since the mice are frozen and I just have to defrost them before—"

"Okay Dan, I get it! Don't need the gory details," I interrupt him. "I have to go pack, but I'll see you on Wednesday morning, kay? I'll hand over the keys and everything to you then."

"Alright, see ya then!" We both get up, split the bill, say our goodbyes and go our separate ways.

* * *

Finally I get home at around four o'clock and collapse on my couch. Today has been emotionally draining and it's all starting to set in; I'm actually staying at a ranch. For several months. With horses. And Brayton. After the conversation I had with him, I'm not sure which part of the deal is worse.

I met with him after lunch and I told him about Wildwood Ranch and our plan to leave on Wednesday. At the very least, he was furious. Brayton is one of those people who hates it when others make choices for him. But I'm his manager, and he knows that if he wants to be successful, he has to listen and do what I tell him to do. I'm pretty sure that's the main reason Will picked me to lead 'Operation Fix Brayton'.

With a wave of exhaustion settling over my body, I close my eyes and fall asleep.

* * *

It's Wednesday and my dad called me yesterday to confirm that the ranch was open and that Peyton was happy to host 'Santana and her troublemaking friend'. The very first thing I will make clear to Peyton when we get to Franklin is that Brayton is my _client_, definitely not my friend. I don't want to be associated with him in any other way than that.

With my bags packed full of almost the entire contents of my closet (I'll be staying for a long time, and there's no way I'm not taking all my clothes), I hurriedly load them into my car just Dan drives his car into the parking lot. Before he can get out of the car, I run up to him and hand him my apartment key.

"Take good care of it, don't burn the building down, and call me if there's any problems," I rush through a list of things to watch out for and look after, then I'm scrambling back to my car. I totally lost track of the time and if I'm late in picking up Brayton, who knows how many bottles he'll manage to stash in his suitcase before I get there.

"Thank you so much Santana!" Dan shouts, "Are you positive you don't need me to go with you to pick up Brayton and make sure he cooperates?"

"No, I got it covered, he's going to be real stubborn and a pain in the ass," I turn the key in the car ignition and start to back out of my space. As I roll down my window and pass Dan's car, I add through a scoff, "But it's not like you were much help last time, so." Then I'm out of the parking lot before I have the chance to observe his reaction.

* * *

"I'm not going! You can't make me!"

"Brayton! I swear if you don't get in this car, I will let _The Tennessean_ write that special about you on 'Best Artist Fails of 2012' that they wanted to release! Do you want to be forever known as the 'musician that could have been great if he didn't get wasted before every show'?" Yeah, that one definitely hit home.

"Damnit, Santana! _Fine_. But don't think I _want_ to do this," he spits out as he climbs into the seat next to me.

"What, and you think _I_ am happy about this?" I ask incredulously, "This is for _you_ so the least you could be is a little grateful that I didn't just quit and leave you for someone else to take care of." That works like a charm to shut him up and the rest of the trip is driven in silence. He may be stubborn, but when it comes to his career, I know he'll do whatever it takes to keep it alive. Even if it means submitting to Will's and my "outrageous" demands.

The beauty of Tennessee in the fall never ceases to amaze me, with the orange and red leaves and rolling hills along the interstate. As we come up to a gravelly dirt road, I spot an engraved river stone sign with the words 'Wildwood Ranch" etched into the rock, the only given clue that we've come to the right place.

The drive took about a half an hour, much shorter than I thought. Turns out it's not totally in the middle of nowhere, only about ten minutes from the historic downtown of Franklin. At least I know I can get cell phone service, the one good benefit so far.

As we drive farther down, the road gets even more rough, and I send a silent thanks to my parents for getting me this Ford Fiesta as a graduation present. It's not the nicest looking car, but it drives these roads like a champ. I don't even want to imagine how choppy and teeth-rattling it would be in a truck. On all sides surrounding us are fields of lush greens and emeralds, fenced in by wooden pickets. I would almost call it a pleasant sight, except.

Horses. Several of them lazily graze the fields around us. If I recall correctly, dealing with my one true phobia was not in my contract when I signed on as Brayton's manager. In order to keep from having a full on panic attack, I press harder on the gas pedal and stare straight ahead. It's pathetic really, my aversion to horses, but it's just something I've had to accept as a characteristic flaw of mine. If all goes well, I'll keep away from them and they'll keep away from me. Hopefully.

Finally, we arrive at what seems to be the main house and I park my car in the dirt clearing to the side of it—a makeshift parking lot—where several other vehicles of all shapes and sizes are stationed.

"And here we are," I speak out, breaking the silence that has filled the car since leaving Brayton's house. Brayton simply sighs, rips open the car door, and jumps out without so much as a word. I know exactly how this deal is going to go: Brayton will make it as difficult as possible for the both of us just to prove that he doesn't need anybody's help besides his own. Which, as we already know, is completely false.

Just as I'm getting out of the car, a pick up truck speeds into the space next to mine and two men who look to be in their early twenties hop out. Both of them have yet to notice me and Brayton and continue laughing about some joke one of them made while driving.

One of them is tan with a strong build and the most interesting hairstyle I've seen since I visited New York in high school. The other, taller of the two, sports a dopey half-grin and medium brown hair. I label them Tweedledee and Tweedledum, respectively. They both wear white wife beaters, black horse riding breeches and worn out brown boots. Basically, they totally look like they belong here.

"And then he says, he says, can I take that one for a spin? And points to Oreo," Tweedledee erupts into another fit of laughter as Tweedledum joins in.

"Wait, why is that funny?" Tweedledum asks after a couple of moments with a confused expression.

"Cause, pinhead, Oreo only obeys Br-" he pauses as he sees us, "Well, hello there! What are a couple of fine folks like yourselves doin' here?" His face changes from arrogant to charming in an instant. "What can we do for the two of ya?"

"We were actually looking for a Mr. Peyton Pierce, do you know of his whereabouts at this moment?"

"Ahh the boss...of course, of course, right this way. I'm pretty sure he's in the office," Tweedledee replies and begins walking towards the entrance of the house.

The house itself is a sight to behold. It has the feel of a cabin with log wood paneling wrapping around the entire building, but it is definitely bigger than the average cabin. Plants of all shapes and colors decorate the wrap-around porch, inviting passers-by to sit on the wooden swing hanging from the ceiling. There is a certain sophisticated look to it, but at the same time it exudes simplicity and coziness. I have to say that if this is the house I'll be staying in, I have no complaints.

"Name's Puck by the way," Tweedledee adds with a wink, "and this is Finn." Finn gives a dopey wave which I return with a nod.

"Santana Lopez," I say while pointing to myself, "and this is Brayton Hale." I tilt my head towards the scowling musician next to me.

"Yeah I've heard of you, that was pretty bad ass when you jumped off the stage at the Five Spot a couple weeks back!" Puck grins at Brayton. I'm about to counter his statement with the fact that he was actually drunk and fell off of it, but I've already damaged Brayton's ego enough by taking him here. So reluctantly, I bite back my retort. And for the first time today, Brayton breaks out into a smile. It's so much better seeing him in a good mood and for everyone's sake I hope it stays that way.

"Thanks, I'd been practicing that move for a while and finally decided to try it out. I think it went pretty well," Brayton deflects the complement with a shrug. Wow, way to milk it Brayton.

"Hell yeah! You gotta teach it to me sometime," Puck replies.

In trying to keep from laughing at these two dimwits, I had completely stopped observing my surroundings as we entered the house. The inside is just as, if not more beautiful than the outside and I can't keep my jaw from dropping at the rustic decor and wonderful country feel it has. And even better yet is the smell of freshly baked apple cobbler mixed in with the smell of autumn scented candles that drifts throughout the house. In a one word summation, it smells like heaven.

Puck and Finn continue to lead us through the living room, with a nice flat screen T.V and extremely comfortable looking couches, down the hall, and to a room in the back that I'm guessing is the office.

Puck knocks on the slightly ajar door and a soft but strong, "Come in!" sounds from inside the room. As the four of us enter, I look around and see shelves filled with books lining the walls and a desk with papers splayed across it in the middle of the room—you're average home office.

Without looking up, Mr. Pierce speaks, "Ah, Puck did Ace jump the fence again? I knew I should have sold him when I got the ch—" he cuts short as he glances up and lands his eyes on me and Brayton. "Well you must be Santana!" He grins, and I can tell already that Mr. Pierce is the kind of guy that everybody loves to love. With a slight southern accent that's not too overbearing, his speech is both soothing and firm. His blue eyes hold a rare kindness to them and when he smiles, they scrunch up at the corners, wrinkled from performing the action many times throughout his life. The smile is contagious, and I find myself returning it to him as easily as waking up on a Sunday morning.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Pierce," I respond, all the while keeping the grin spread across my face.  
"Oh no, the pleasure's all mine! A daughter of Dr. Lopez is a friend of mine!" Whatever my dad did at this ranch must have been pretty special because the appreciation in Mr. Pierce's voice is sincere.

"And you must be Brayton," it's hardly noticeable, but I catch his smile falter for a fraction of a second as he rests his eyes on Brayton. "I've heard plenty of things about you." Although his tone is far from malicious, I get the feeling that the things he's heard are not of the pleasant variety.

"Nice house," is all Brayton replies with and I scratch my head embarrassingly.

Mr. Pierce pretends not to notice the awkward tension as he rises from his chair and claps his hands together.

"Well, I guess now would be a good time as any to show you to your rooms, ain't that right?" He says and leads us out of the room and back down the hall. Puck and Finn excuse themselves to tend to the horses as Brayton and I follow Mr. Pierce up an extravagant cherry wood staircase. Once again, I find myself admiring the charming atmosphere the house presents.

At the top of the stairs are two hallways leading in opposite directions with about three bedrooms each and Mr. Pierce tells Brayton to settle into any room on the right side while he leads me towards the left. Each room that rests in the hallway has its own theme, and I'm immediately drawn to the dark and purple 'French-styled' room at the end of the hall.

"Nice pick, Santana," Mr. Pierce nods approvingly, "you have good taste."

"Thank you Mr. Pierce, I think whoever decorated this room also deserves a compliment or two," I reply. Something flashes behind Mr. Pierce's eyes, but out of respect I pretend to ignore it. I suppose I'll have to ask Puck or Finn about it later.

"Listen, I wanted to tell you something without Brayton hearing," Mr. Pierce lowers his voice, "I know you were sent here to watch over him and get him back on his feet, am I correct?" I nod my head in affirmation. "And I also get the feeling that you don't want to be here at all, which is something that I feel ought to be changed. Anyone of the Lopez family should feel welcome on my ranch, so I'm giving you a proposition."

I raise my eyebrows as he continues on, "If you accept, I would like to take Brayton off your hands for the rest of your stay, ya know, let you relax rather than having to play the role of chaperone.

"I'll personally make sure he follows the rules and he'll be whipped into shape in no time, I'm sure of it! So what do ya say? Take this trip as a vacation and let me coach Brayton into becoming a true gentleman?" His offer seems genuine, but I feel there's another component to the exchange that he's not telling me about.

"That's really generous of you, Mr. Pierce," I start, "and honestly I'd love it if I had another pair of eyes watching Brayton's every move. But I still feel obligated as his manager to take part in his recovery, so how about we both help him get back on his feet?"

"Okay, that's reasonable, but just promise me you won't work yourself too hard while you're here," Mr. Pierce responds. I'm taken aback by his persistence and can't help but ask another question.

"My father asked you to do this, didn't he?"

"Yes he did request that I make sure you don't overwork yourself, but I also see that you're very stressed by the whole ordeal, so I'd sincerely like to help in any way I can."

"I appreciate that, Mr. Pierce." And on that note, he tips his hat and walks back into the hallway.

"Now I'm going to check on Brayton, make sure he hasn't found the liquor cabinet by now," the rancher winks, "Feel free to explore the property. Me kaysah ess you kaysah, or however you say it in Spanish!" I chuckle and send him a grateful smile.

* * *

Once I finally carry all my bags into the house and get everything settled into the bedroom, it's almost five o'clock in the afternoon. Taking Mr. Pierce's advice, I walk out of the house and head across the road towards a couple of randomly placed buildings that dot the wide open fields. From what I can tell, the whole property has to be at least fifty acres, a generous amount of land to say the least. No time like the present to explore it all! (Just let me avoid the horses.)

I approach the nearest barn, and as I get closer I can make out a group of wranglers hanging out in the front of it. Among them are Puck and Finn, laughing their asses off to probably another pointless inside joke. Do they even do any work at all?

Making my way past them as discretely as I can—I really don't feel like pretending to be interested in conversing with them—I walk farther away from the house and closer to the line of trees that create a natural barrier, most probably the property line. As I reach the beginning of the woods, I see that not only do trees surround the field, but also an old wooden fence. Because I'm feeling exhausted and want to take in the beautiful scenery laid out in front of me, I half-climb, half-jump onto the fence so my ass is resting on the top rung.

Man, this place is amazing. I'm not one of those people that worships nature and writes poems about it or paints landscapes or anything, but I can't deny that staring out into the Tennessee countryside incites an inspiration in me that I haven't felt in a long time. Taking everything in, I'm thinking maybe this won't be such a bad deal after all. But then I remember Brayton and how much damage he's able to do, and Mr. Pierce or not, I know he's going to makit's taking here as difficult as possible for me. Damn Brayton, always ruining things that have the potential to be great.

I sigh and continue to observe the world that's in front of me when suddenly I feel something cold and damp brush against my neck. I let out an astonished yelp and turn to find the worst possible creature staring me straight in the eye. A freaking horse. Seriously? In the midst of my surprise, I jump back, forgetting that I'm sitting on a fence. Real smart, Lopez.

Why do I always end up on the ground when horses are involved?

As I curse to myself, because let's be real, not only am I scared shitless, but my back hurts like hell right now, I hear a female voice call out.

"Oreo! I told you not to run off like th-" she starts, but immediately stops as she lands her eyes on me. Her frustrated expression immediately turns to that of amused, and I can't blame her. My eyes are probably so wide it looks like I just saw Big Foot or something, my hair is probably a mess from the fall I just took, and I'm just sitting on the ground embarrassed as fuck.

My wide eyes get even wider because, damn, this woman is gorgeous. Like top-notch, how-is-she-even-real, gorgeous. My gaze drifts from her untamed golden-blonde hair where a white cowboy hat rests on top of her head down to her blue and black plaid long-sleeved flannel. With worn-out jeans and classic black cowboy boots, she's got the cowgirl look down to a tee. As my eyes come back up to her face (I think she has the most beautiful blue eyes I've ever seen), it seems like she's about to say something; apologize maybe, for letting her horse escape and ambushing me, or laugh and call me out on my pathetic phobia, or maybe ask me who I am and what the heck I'm doing here; but she never gets the chance.

Just then one of the wranglers calls, "Hey B! We need to put Oreo back in the stable!" The horse in question snuffs indignantly, and if I wasn't scared out of my mind, I might laugh at how fitting the name Oreo is for this horse. It's got a sleek black coat with fluffy white hair above its hooves and a white star on its head. Whoever named it is a clever one.

I hadn't even noticed, but the sun is starting to set and the sky is turning a glowing shade of orange that I might think pretty if not for my current predicament. The woman angles her head and shouts a "coming!" over her shoulder before turning back to me and Oreo. As she leads the horse towards the direction of the stables, she glances my way and gives me one last look. The smirk on her face as she's backing away is one full of mirth and her cat-like eyes have a glint of mischievousness to them. I don't think I should even have to mention how embarrassed I am right now.

Then she's fully facing the stables with her back towards me, leading her horse and proceeding to join the group of men waiting for her. Not a single word thrown in my direction. Only a light chuckle and a sly smile.

Now I'm breathing really hard, and not only because a horse just stuck its nose in my face and scared me half to death.

* * *

Because it's starting to get dark, I make my way back to the main house while thinking about what just happened in the last ten minutes.

A freaking horse jumped me and then I saw one of the most gorgeous women I've ever seen. Damn. She didn't even say anything, but I have an idea of what she was thinking. I probably looked like a fucking nutcase. And I didn't even have the intelligence to come up with an excuse as to why I was at the edge of the ranch's property, playing patty-cake with the ground. How embarrassing.

After a couple of minutes, I arrive at the house and realize just how hungry I am when I smell some type of meat barbecuing and fresh biscuits cooking in the oven. Good old fashioned southern food. Normally I would roll my eyes at how cliché this dinner is going to be, but I'm really too hungry to care.

As soon as I walk through the door, Mr. Pierce comes out of the hallway that leads to the office. When he sees me, his face lights up and what I'm quickly learning is the 'signature Pierce smile' appears.

"Santana! Just the girl I'm looking for," he greets, "I wanted to ask you if you'd like to join us for dinner? That is of course, only if you want to. See, on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, the whole crew gets together and eats in the dining hall. It's sort of our 'family' bonding time, and there's music and dancing—pretty fun! But if you're too tired and don't feel like meeting anybody, I completely understand, you can just take your food upstairs and get some rest or whatever you want."

I can tell he wants me to choose whatever option I'll be most comfortable with, and under normal circumstances on a day like today I would choose to eat alone without having to deal with meeting new people. But he did say the _whole_ crew would be attending, and I wonder if maybe...

"Is Brayton going to be there?" That's not the exact question I want to ask (or rather, about whom I want to ask), but I also would like to know if someone just as new to the ranch as I am will be going to dinner. From past experience, it sucks being the new guy, but it's not so bad when you're not alone.

"Yup," Mr. Pierce replies, "I talked to him and he says he's coming along." Mr. Pierce leans in and stage whispers, "Just between you and me, I think with an attitude adjustment, he could be just swell." I'd have to agree with that; there was a time early in Brayton's career that he was a friendly, talented musician that everybody liked. Then he turned to alcohol and the good-natured personality quickly disappeared.

"Alright then, I guess I'll go," I reply, "It'd be nice to meet all the people I'll be spending the next couple months with." (But really I just mean one person).

"Great! Get ready for dinner and I'll meet you at the dining hall in fifteen."

* * *

Turns out the 'dining hall' is actually an empty barn with a large rectangular wood table in the middle and softly glowing string lights hanging from the ceiling. The whole atmosphere is warm and welcoming, just like everything else has been so far at Wildwood. Well, except for a certain horse named after a cookie.

Off to the side, there's a raised wooden platform that makes a small stage where a couple of string instruments sit on their stands. As I'm looking around, more and more people start filing in. Some are hanging around and talking, while others are beginning to sit down at the table. I spot Brayton and decide to sit across from him, just in case he tries to smuggle a beer or two.

He makes a point of ignoring me, which I really have no problem with, and soon the whole table is filled, save for one spot. Mr. Pierce sits at the head, with Puck and Finn sitting on his left side. Brayton sits one chair away from them, with a nice looking gentleman sitting in between. On Mr. Pierce's right side is the empty chair and I sit three spots down, across from Brayton.

Somebody must be late, as Mr. Pierce keeps throwing quick glances to the empty chair, until finally he decides we'll have to eat without them. We take turns getting up and stacking our plates high with corn and brisket that are stationed on a separate, smaller table in the back of the barn. In the midst of getting my food, I meet a couple of members of the ranch that seem like really nice, kind people, just like Mr. Pierce. I can tell he keeps good company on the ranch.

Halfway through my dinner, as I'm talking to the woman next to me about the unusually warm fall weather we've been getting, someone bursts through the barn door behind me. Everybody looks up and I turn around to see who must be the owner of the empty chair. My mouth drops about a foot.

It's _the_ woman. And she's walking in with a frantic, sorry expression heading straight towards the seat next to Mr. Pierce. I turn around and hide my face so she doesn't see me (I've had enough embarrassment for one day), but not before I notice a smudge of grease smeared on her forehead. I don't know what she was doing before she came here, but. Hot.

"I am so sorry, everybody, I didn't mean to keep you waiting, I hope you started eating," she hurriedly apologizes, "I was working on the Dodge and totally lost track of time!" I don't know what the Dodge is, but you can work on me anytime. Oh god, totally did not mean to think that. At least I didn't say it out loud...right?

"Brittany, calm down, it's not like you're obligated to be here exactly on time," Mr. Pierce eases her worries.

Brittany. That name definitely fits.

She relaxes a little before Puck questions excitedly, "The Dodge! How's it coming along?" Brittany leans over the table so her long blonde hair creates a curtain covering her face, but I can still hear the enthusiasm in her voice as she begins to talk about a truck that she's fixing up. The terms the two of them are using go way over my head, and I suddenly realize that everyone else has picked their conversations back up. I'm the only one that's still staring at these two instead talking with someone else. I can't help it, but this girl fascinates me. Like, how does she know so much about cars?

Apparently Puck notices that I'm staring too, and his eyes shift to lock on with mine. I guess it must look pretty weird because I'm slightly leaning over the table in their direction like I'm totally invested in their conversation. Which I am. But I probably shoudn't be. It's totally obvious how much I'm eavesdropping. Way to be subtle.

Puck raises his eyebrows, and Brittany's animated discussion about transmissions dies off as Puck seems to have stopped listening. Before she gets the chance to see what's grabbed his attention, I quickly turn to my right and pretend to be invested in the conversation next to me.

I don't know if she caught me staring, or if Puck told her I was, but I'm not about to turn around and find out anytime soon.

* * *

**Alright, so there we go! I just wanted to say a couple of things: first of all I'm sorry if Santana's dislike of horses offends anybody; true to Santana's form, she masks her fear with contempt. I personally love horses so I hope it doesn't offend anyone.**

**Also, I'm kind of perpetuating the whole "Southern stereotype", but I'm trying to do it in an as non-offensive way as I can while still showing the clash between Santana's and Brittany's lifestyles. I hope that also doesn't come across as offensive, if it does, sorry!**

**Thanks for reading and Happy Father's Day!**


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